The trees shoulder hoods of ice.
The rooftops sweat beneath sheets
in the great silence before cracking.
Just a few degrees + limbs
will shatter our shadowy footsteps.
We want jarring to emerge better
but keep eyes to the ground,
slogging the well-trodden
rather than risk
glassy white + toppling.
The trees bow their hoods of ice.
They want to emerge better,
to release the accretion
of days, the icicles that hang
arrested while wings
slip overhead.
When not teaching, Devon Balwit stocks her Little Free Library and chases chickens in Portland, OR. Her poems and reviews can be found in The Worcester Review, The Cincinnati Review, Tampa Review, Barrow Street, Tar River Poetry, Sugar House Review, Rattle, Bellingham Review, and Grist among others. Her most recent chapbook is Rubbing Shoulders with the Greats [Seven Kitchens Press, 2020]. Her collection Dog-Walking in the Shadow of Pyongyang is forthcoming [Nixes Mate Books 2021] For more, please visit her website at: https://pelapdx.wixsite.com/devonbalwitpoet
Featured image by Devon Balwit
